Fate
by Mermes
Summary: Fate works in the strangest ways sometimes. (Pythagoras/Icarus)


Fate works in the strangest ways sometimes.

Have you ever felt as though your entire life has been leading up to one moment, the most important moment of your existence? Everyone experiences that at least once in their lifetime.

For Pythagoras of Samos, that moment had just arrived. Shakier and more nervous than he would have like to be, he stood before the doors of Daedalus' workshop, which were, much to his disappointment, not as grand as he had imagined.

But it didn't matter, because he was _there_. He'd been dreaming of learning from Daedalus, whose wisdom and genius were famous even in Samos, for years, and he was finally going to get his wish.

What Pythagoras didn't know, however, was that Fate is fickle, and that she sometimes likes to make us stray from the road we walk on, down paths we never would have imagined.

But he would find out soon enough.

* * *

><p>Daedalus' workshop, despite it's rather shabby exterior, turned out to be every bit as extraordinary as he had hoped. It was small, but full to the brim with the most amazing contraptions he had ever seen. They all had different shapes and colours and he couldn't even begin to guess what they could be used for. His hands were filled with the childlike urge to touch and poke, and so he did. He lightly touched a small human-like figure and watched with quiet fascination how it came to life and walked a few steps. Surely he was dreaming.<p>

He was brought back to reality by a sharp jab in his lower back. With a pained gasp, he turned around, only to come face to face with an old man holding a knife. Gods, had he jabbed him with that thing? It was a wonder he wasn't bleeding.

"What are you doing?" asked the man, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The man was Daedalus. He had to be. Oh, Gods, this was bad. Pythagoras had heard tales of what happened to those who messed with Daedalus' inventions. It was rumored that he had once chopped off a man's fingers.

Pythagoras really didn't want to lose his fingers.

"M-my name is Pythagoras," he stammered, taking a couple of steps back. "I was just-"

"I don't care who you are, I asked you what you were doing," snapped the inventor. He still hadn't lowered his knife.

Pythagoras swallowed nervously. "I was simply-"

"Nevermind, I don't care about that either. Get out," said the inventor, pushing him towards the door.

This couldn't be happening.

Daedalus kept shoving him until the mathematician's back hit the door. "Shoo!"

Pythagoras tried to pull himself together. "B-but I..."

"SHOO!"

Deciding that the best course of action when faced with a madman with a knife was to flee, Pythagoras opened the door and left as quickly as his feet could carry him.

He slowed down as soon as he left the building, trying to come to terms with the crushing disappointment he felt. Was it all really over, just like that? How long had he been there? A minute? It had all happened so quickly...

"Hey, wait!"

Pythagoras turned to see a young man about his age sprinting down the stairs of the workshop.

"I'm sorry about that. I heard my father yelling at you, but you left before I could do anything," said the man, pushing his dark brown hair out of his eyes, which were a lighter shade of the same colour. Gods, he was handsome, it took a lot of self-control not to ogle at him. Unfortunately, most men didn't take kindly to that kind of attention from someone like Pythagoras.

The mathematician should have said something along the lines of 'Who are you?' or 'I'm sorry, but your father's a bastard'. Instead, he blurted out: "Daedalus has a _son_?"

The man grinned. "Yes, and he's standing right here," he said, holding out his hand. "Icarus."

"Pythagoras." He shook his hand, trying not to blush. Icarus' grip was firm, his hands warm and calloused. Pythagoras wondered if he was an inventor like his father, if he was also a genius. Well, whatever he was, he appeared to be nicer, at least.

Icarus seemed to guess what he was thinking, because his grin widened. "Don't worry, my father treats everyone exactly the same way." He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "Well, actually, he hasn't been this polite to someone in a long time."

Pythagoras gave an incredulous laugh. "Polite? Really?"

"Oh, yes," Icarus said seriously, though there was an amused twinkle in his eyes. "It's a miracle he didn't bleat in your face until you left, which is what he usually does. He thinks of us as sheep, you see. Obviously, there are some whose intelligence catches his attention for about a minute, but we're all sheep nonetheless. Silly little animals incapable of understanding his oh-so-brilliant mind."

"Even you?"

"Especially me. He's been weeping about my 'wasted potential' ever since I was born. Figuratively, of course. I've never seen the man shed a tear." Icarus shrugged. "Then again, I don't see him that often."

Pythagoras found it sad that Daedalus seemed so detached from his son's life. Having had a complicated childhood himself because of his father (and 'complicated' was a bit of an understatement), he couldn't help sympathizing with this stranger who seemed fine with telling him his life story for no reason. Not that Pythagoras minded, of course.

"That must be hard."

Icarus grinned. "Nah, it isn't. He does love me in his own way, but that doesn't stop him from criticizing me. 'Stop dreaming, Icarus,' he says. 'You'll fly too high one day and the fall back to reality will be a hard one'."

Pythagoras bit back a laugh. "How poetic of him."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Icarus said, chuckling. "He hates poets."

"I thought he hated everyone."

"Well, he does, but poets are on a whole other level. Musicians, too. You should've seen the fit he threw when I was ten and decided I wanted to play the lyre."

Pythagoras really laughed this time. "I'm sure that not even Poseidon's wrath could match his rage." He felt strangely comfortable around Icarus. Maybe it was because of his easy smile, or because he seemed to genuinely enjoy Pythagoras' company. Whatever it was, he liked it.

"Are you an inventor, too?" he asked curiously.

Icarus shrugged. "Not a very good one, according to my father. He reckons my inventions are useless."

"They might not be."

"Alas, the world will never know."

"Maybe you could show them to me sometime." He regretted those words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Stupid, stupid idiot. Gods, what was he playing at? Had he not learned to tread carefully when it came to talking to men? One wrong word, one wrong look, and it was all over. Would Icarus misunderstand the meaning of Pythagoras' words? And if he did, would he turn away in disgust?

Icarus tilted his head to one side. "If you'd like me to," he said simply. Was Pythagoras imagining things, or was his tone just a tiny bit lower than before? And that gleam in his eyes... _'No, stop that, stop getting your hopes up, you idiot. You've been down this road before and you know where it leads'_.

"I... I would."

"Next time, then," said Icarus.

Pythagoras blinked. "Next time?"

"Of course. You are coming back, right?" Was it wishful thinking, or did Icarus sound troubled by the prospect of Pythagoras not returning?

"I think your father made it clear I'm not welcome there anymore."

"He doesn't like people visiting him after dusk, that's all," said Icarus. "Try again tomorrow, I'm sure he'll listen to you."

Pythagoras couldn't say no to him. "I... I will."

"So I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Tomorrow."

Icarus smiled then, really smiled, and it was like watching the sun come out, warming the world with its light. '_Oh, Poseidon help me...'_

Pythagoras knew right there and then that he was a goner.

As he walked away from the workshop, he repeated that word again and again in his mind: "Tomorrow". He liked it. He liked what it promised.

* * *

><p>"Do I know you?"<p>

"Um, yes," said Pythagoras, trying not to sound as exasperated as he felt. "I was here yesterday?"

Daedalus grunted, not even looking up at him. He appeared to be immersed in the undoubtedly fascinating activity of putting a series of small sticks one on top of the other.

"Do try not to look like a startled goat, your face is interfering with my work."

Deep breaths, Pythagoras. "I was wondering if I could be you assistant. Or your apprentice. Or you student. Or anything, really."

When he'd dreamed of asking the legendary Daedalus to be his teacher, it had never sounded quite as desperate as it had just done.

The inventor was still busy with his pile of sticks.

"Please, I... I've always wanted to come here. It would mean the world to me if you could teach me your craft. I-"

"You? Why would I want _you_? You, with your tiny little brain? A tiny little brain full of sawdust, that's all you can offer me. No, no, no, not useful at all. The door is to your left," muttered the inventor, not even looking at Pythagoras.

Pythagoras was stunned, unable to process those words. "You don't... But I... But why not?"

"Why, why, why," muttered Daedalus, adding another stick to the pile. "Always the same question. You're not the first fool to come into my workshop thinking he deserves to learn my craft, and you won't be the last. Why don't I want you, you ask? Well, I have a question for you," he said, looking up. His eyes were a steely gray. "Why should I want you?"

Pythagoras felt as though his childhood dream had shattered into a million pieces, each of them embedding itself into his heart. He couldn't breathe. Of course Daedalus didn't want him. Nobody did. Why would they? He was nothing, just a skinny, cowardly little boy, like his father had always said.

He simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew that if he opened his mouth, he would break down, and he had already disgraced himself enough. What a fool he had been, thinking that he would be welcome here. He wasn't welcome anywhere.

He turned to leave.

"Father." It was Icarus, who had quietly appeared from behind the curtain that separated the workshop from what Pythagoras assumed was Daedalus' home. The mathematician's heart skipped a beat. Had the inventor's son heard their entire conversation? Pythagoras hoped not. He didn't want any more witnesses to his humiliation.

"Ah, and he emerges," muttered Daedalus. "What do you want, boy? More wood for those silly little toys of yours?"

Icarus looked completely different from when Pythagoras had last seen him. There were shadows under his eyes, his curly hair was a mess and his easy smile had been replaced by a scowl. "I wanted to vouch for Pythagoras, actually."

Daedalus look surprised. "Goat Boy?"

Icarus inhaled deeply, obviously irritated. "I spoke to _Pythagoras_ last night," he said, emphasizing the name. The mathematician tried not to think about how nice it sounded on Icarus' lips. "You know, after you unceremoniously kicked him out. He's a good man, father, better than others you've taught. If anyone deserves to have you as their teacher, it's him."

There was a stunned silence.

Pythagoras could feel his cheeks burning. Did Icarus really think so highly of him? No one had ever said such kind things about him, nor believed in him like that. He wasn't sure whether his pounding heart was due to nerves or something else entirely.

Daedalus finally looked up from his work and took a good look at Pythagoras for the first time, taking a few steps until he was almost nose to nose with the mathematician. Pythagoras tried not to squirm.

"You truly believe what you've just said, boy?" he said, not looking away from Pythagoras.

"Yes."

Daedalus nodded. "Icarus is a fool," he said. Pythagoras heard a snort. "But sometimes he shows a small degree of intelligence, and I believe this might be one of those times. I trust his judgement. You may stay."

It took Pythagoras a few moments to fully understand those words. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to say something even remotely coherent, but words failed him.

"You shall come here every day from midday until dusk and assist me or my son, on the rare occasions he decides to show up. You touch nothing without my permission. You break something, I break you. Understand?"

Pythagoras gulped. "Y-yes." Oh, Gods, was he dreaming? Or was this actually happening? It seemed too good to be true.

"Very well. You start tomorrow. Now, get out." Daedalus returned to his scroll, making a shooing motion with his hand and ignoring his son's protests.

"I..."

"OUT!"

And so Pythagoras left, still stunned by what had just happened. He was so immersed in his own thoughts that he tripped on something (one of Daedalus' inventions, no doubt) and would have fallen down the stairs had it not been for the hand that grabbed his wrist and steadied him.

"Careful," said Icarus, grinning. Had he followed Pythagoras outside because he wanted to talk? The thought made his heart flutter.

The mathematician smiled nervously. "Sorry. And thank you. Not for this, but for what you did before. Well, for this too. For both things. Thank you." He shut up before he could embarrass himself further. He was certain his face was as red as a pomegranate.

Icarus didn't seem to mind his rambling. "There's no need to thank me, Pythagoras."

Oh, but there was. If only he knew...

Pythagoras shook his head. "There is every need," he said, his voice cracking slightly at the end. "What you've done for me, Icarus... It means the world to me, to be able to learn here, and it's a debt I'll never be able to repay."

Icarus was watching him intently, frowning slightly, as though he were looking for something. Pythagoras met his gaze and didn't look away. It dawned on him that Icarus was still holding his wrist, but his grip was softer now, gentler. The air around them seemed to thicken, but not in an unpleasant or uncomfortable way. It was as though the world was waiting for something to happen, something that would change everything.

Icarus seemed to have found what he had been looking for in Pythagoras' expression. "Pythagoras, we haven't known each other for long, but I..." He seemed to be lost for words. ""I barely slept last night, I was so worried you might not come back, which is mad, because I barely know you, but I just... I want you to know that you're welcome here. Always. And that I'll be here if you ever need me... or want me," he said softly.

Pythagoras barely had time to think of what the word 'want' entailed before Icarus took a step forward and pressed his lips to his.

The kiss was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Pythagoras would have believed he'd dreamt it had it not been for the tingling feeling on his lips and the scratch of stubble he'd felt on his chin.

Icarus was watching him expectantly, almost afraid. He looked as nervous as Pythagoras felt.

By the Gods, they barely knew each other, but they'd kissed and it had felt good. It had felt right, like it was meant to be.

And maybe it was.

Icarus seemed to interpret his silence as rejection. He tensed, already opening his mouth to apologize and releasing his hold on Pythagoras' wrist.

But the mathematician, acting on impulse, quickly grabbed his hand and twined their fingers together. He felt almost dizzy with emotion: fear, nerves, want... He couldn't settle on just one, and his heart felt like it was about to explode. He smiled nervously, and Icarus returned the gesture.

They were just standing there, holding hands and smiling at each other like lovestruck idiots, and Pythagoras had never felt happier.

"I seem to recall you promising to show me your inventions..." he hinted.

Icarus' smile widened, and once again Pythagoras felt as though he were looking directly at the sun. Gods, he was beautiful.

"Let's go then, shall we?"

* * *

><p>It was only when they reached Icarus' room that Pythagoras realized that it was, well, Icarus' <em>room<em>. Where he lived and slept. Somehow, being there felt more intimate than the kiss had.

It was almost as cluttered as the workshop, with rows of shelves full of different devices, some of which had clearly been made by a toddler's hands, while others others looked so delicately and carefully made that Pythagoras feared a mere breeze would shatter them.

He could feel Icarus' eyes on him as he looked around the room. Was he nervous? Did he expect Pythagoras to laugh and mock his inventions?

"You were wrong, you know," he said.

"About what?" asked Icarus, clearly confused.

Pythagoras took his hand and squeezed it. "About not being as brilliant as your father. You are. You're amazing."

Much to his amusement, Icarus blushed. However, he couldn't comment on it before the young man pulled him closer, capturing his lips in another kiss, which he gladly returned. It was slow, careful, the both of them still hesitant. Icarus slipped his arms around Pythagoras' waist. Pythagoras wasn't quite sure what his arms were doing.

They separated after a few moments, breathing hard. A piece of paper pinned to the wall behind Icarus caught Pythagoras' attention.

"What's that?" he asked, untangling himself from the young man's embrace and grabbing the paper.

"Hmm?"

Pythagoras showed it to him. "Wings?"

"Ah." Icarus grimaced. "It's a long story. You don't want to hear it."

"I do," said Pythagoras, smiling. He wanted wanted to know every chapter of Icarus' life story.

Icarus sighed and plopped down on his bed. "Fine. Sit down and I'll explain it to you." He patted the spot next to him, and Pythagoras quickly complied.

"I was around ten years old..." began Icarus.

"Wasn't that when you decided you wanted to play the lyre?"

"I was a rebellious child."

"Your father's constant bad mood is starting to make sense..."

"Hush, or I won't tell you anything."

Pythagoras snorted.

"As I was saying," continued Icarus. "I was an unusually clever ten-year-old boy with a wild imagination and a keen interest in flying. I've always been fascinated by birds, see. And so I thought: 'If birds can fly, why shouldn't humans be able to fly too? If Hermes has winged shoes, why can't _I_ make winged shoes?'"

"I'm assuming your father wasn't too keen on that idea."

"He wasn't. He said that it was ridiculous, that it was physically impossible for humans to fly. We argued about it for some time and in the end I vowed to find a way to make it possible. There, that's the whole story. If you laugh I might have to kick you out."

"I wasn't going to!" Well, that was a lie. The thought of ten-year-old Icarus arguing with grumpy old Daedalus was hilarious, but he tried to keep a straight face. "In fact, I could probably help you."

Icarus raised an eyebrow. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course." Pythagoras grabbed one of the few papers that littered the bed, his mind already finding small changes that could be made to improve the design. "Look, if you change the-"

"No," said Icarus, plucking the paper. "We are not talking about this while sitting on my bed."

Pythagoras licked his lips. "What do you suggest we do, then?"

Icarus' eyes flickered to his mouth. "I can think of a thing or two."

"Then show me."

And show him he did.

* * *

><p>Some time later, when they were done and they lay together, legs intertwined, pressing occasional lazy kisses to the other's lips, hands and or neck, Pythagoras marveled at how right it all felt.<p>

He recalled what he'd been feeling just two days ago (had it really only been two days? It felt like a lifetime) when he'd stood before the workshop's doors, that feeling that his whole life had been leading up to that moment, that place.

It seemed that Fate had led him not to a place, but to a person.

And he was finally home.


End file.
